


Lucien's Lover

by nirnrootemporium



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirnrootemporium/pseuds/nirnrootemporium
Summary: What does it take to love a cold-blooded murderer? Deception? Perversion? How long does it take before the Lover turns to evil too?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. An Evening Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! Welcome to a new work! I hope you enjoy it!  
> Tw for this chapter: implied sex

I hadn’t slept at all that night. The metal fork I was clutching would clatter to the floor each time I dozed off, snapping me awake. The endless drudgery of the handwritten secret code manuals he expected me to pore over day and night was beginning to wear me thin. It sometimes felt as though the only reason he’d stop by was to give me more assignments, like some kind of sadistic school teacher.

The fork slipped from my grasp, but now out of surprise as I felt that telltale gust of cold wind against the back of my neck. It didn’t seem to matter how many times I told him to just use the damned front door, he always had to do this little magic act of his. Long, frozen fingers stroked my throat out of nowhere and I tilted my head back, gazing into the slightly distorted nothing that loomed over me. “Lucien… you’re late.” He chuckled lowly. I’d know that voice out of thousands.

“Perhaps I am… but here you sit, faithful as ever.”

“Oh, shut up.” He laughed openly now and allowed me to see him. I stood to face him. I was almost as tall as him, but he still had enough height to look down into my eyes. “Are you ever going to stop this nonsense? I’ve given you at least three copies of my front door key.” He hummed in mock consideration.

“I don’t think I will, no.” I shook my head and sat back down. Lucien slid into the seat adjacent to me and pulled out another homemade book. I glared at him.

“By Azura, another one? Don’t you think I’m proficient enough in your crackpot codes by now?”

“One can never be too certain.” I tossed it onto the precariously tall pile of other manuals he’d given me.

“You were gone for longer than you said you’d be.” 

“Yes. There were some, ah, complications in my quest.”

“Well, I found you something while you were gone.” I opened the drawer of my desk and produced an engraved silver signet ring. “Lucky for you, it came with the “L” already carved into it. The woman at the shop claimed it was enchanted to enhance the protectiveness of the wearer’s clothes to that of light armor, but I’ve never heard of that before and I couldn’t tell if she was lying or not. It’s stylish, if nothing else.” I extended it to him and he took it, quickly sliding it onto his ring finger.

“Thank you. This is… a very nice gift.”

“I’m glad you like it. It wasn’t cheap.” He gazed at me for a few moments before speaking.

“This upcoming quest will be longer than the others. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“Well… You’d better come back.”

“I can’t promise that, as much as I’d like to.” We stared at each other. Abruptly, he stood up and beckoned me imperiously. I rose, feeling almost entranced, just as I always did when he had certain activities in mind. “We should make the best of our guaranteed time together.” I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on his. With a wave of his hand, the door to my bedroom creaked open and he led me away towards it.

✤✤✤

I felt Lucien’s weight shift as he rose from my bed in the sickly light of morning. As lightly as the touch of a spider, his fingers brushed my cheek before he left my side. I opened my eyes a fraction as he walked to my dresser where I allowed him to keep a few changes of clothes. I gazed at his tall, pale form in the dim light. His back-length, pitch colored hair had fallen out of its ponytail at some point during the night, now flowing freely down his shoulders.

Once he’d dressed and obscured his head in a hood, he vanished, just as he always did. The bedroom door opened and closed and I sat up slowly. Though his visits always brought me such bliss, something about this one left me disquieted. He’d never seemed uncertain about his survival before. He was a talented adventurer. Whatever quest he was being sent on now, it must be intensely dangerous.

I rolled out of bed and padded back to my desk. Yawning, I lifted up the latest book Lucien had brought me. It was lighter than usual, more of a pamphlet than anything else. I flipped it open to find paragraphs of code written in his neat, straight hand. I couldn’t quite put a finger on what was odd about this one as opposed to all the others, but something wasn’t right. I narrowed my eyes and a clue came into focus. On each page, a random symbol was slightly thicker than all the rest. It was such a small difference that I doubted someone less familiar with Lucien’s writing would’ve noticed it. I tore a corner of parchment from a journal and jotted down each symbol and decoded what they spelled. Applewatch. Applewatch? I hadn’t the slightest idea what that meant. It sounded like a place, but I couldn’t be sure. I double checked my work, but that was correct. Maybe it was an accident. Coincidence. But no. I knew there was no element of chance here. One thing I could be certain of was that Lucien Lachance did not deal in coincidence.


	2. Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

I kept my eyes closed even though I was awake. If I didn’t open them, then maybe he wouldn’t be absent from my side. If I didn’t look, I wouldn’t have to see the void of emptiness in my bed. If I willed it, he would be there, asleep and safe from harm. It was all a lie, though. He was gone. He was gone and I didn’t know where he was or if I’d ever see him again.

I sat up slowly. It had been three months since I’d seen Lucien. Three months of waning hope and waxing grief. Three months. I slid my legs out of bed and stood on the chilled wooden floor. I hadn’t been inside the Chapel of Dibella since I’d moved to Anvil ten years ago, but… I was out of ideas. Maybe the gods would still have a little mercy.

Blearily, I walked out of my room. I slammed my hip against the corner of my desk as I passed, knocking books and papers to the floor. That was going to bruise badly. I rubbed my hip and knelt down on the floor to pick up the mess I’d made. The first thing I grabbed was a book, but it made me pause. It was the last one Lucien left me. I hadn’t thought about it since the first time I opened it, but now… What was the message it held? I sat on the floor and went through it again. Applewatch. If that was a place, I’d certainly never heard of it, but for now it was my only clue. 

I abandoned the clutter, staring at the pages before me. Maybe that’s where I’d find Lucien, but it certainly wasn’t much to go on. Why wouldn’t he give me more information? Maybe he was in danger. Maybe he’d hoped I’d never even need to go looking for him at all. Even so, one word wasn’t much of an insurance policy. What if I didn’t even notice it? Or maybe I’d never figure out where Applewatch even was. That was still a possibility.

Where was I supposed to start? Looking through books for some place called Applewatch would be like looking for a quill in the ocean, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen the name on a map. But maybe… Lucien kept some of his things in my dresser. I hadn’t had the strength to go through them since he’d left, but maybe I’d find a clue there.

I tossed aside the handmade pamphlet and quickly went to my dresser, wrenching it open. I pulled out every item of clothing, shaking them out and grasping down into pockets, but I found nothing as I threw each robe and hood to the floor.

Just as I was about to slam shut the empty drawer in frustration, I saw it. A folded piece of parchment. I snatched it up and nearly tore it as I feverishly unfolded it. A map! I spread it out on my bed and knelt on the floor. The map of Cyrodiil was covered in handwritten marks and place names, drawn roads and rivers, locations I’d never heard of, all in Lucien’s perfect hand. I scanned it slowly, looking for Applewatch. There was a skull drawn over Cheydinhal. I wondered if some enemy of his lived there. My index finger trailed up towards Bruma and there it was, just outside the city. I folded the map and stood. I had to leave tonight.

In the basement, I dug through an old chest, heaving out my father’s old armor. It was heavy, orcish metal, dulled with dust. I already knew it would be too big for me, but it was all I had. I didn’t know what I was walking into, and I needed some kind of protection. Off of the wall I lifted down an iron shield and my grandfather's longsword. Both were so heavy I could barely wield them.

I cleaned the armor and sharpened the sword. I packed a small bag with food, water, and potions. I could only hope it would be enough. Carefully I slid into the armor. I couldn’t move. If I wore this, I’d surely get myself killed, so I took it all off again, letting the metal clank to the floor. I went upstairs, and in a small box I found a gift Lucien had given me years ago. A short, razor sharp ebony dagger with a soft leather grip that fit well in my hand. I didn’t have any armor, but this would do for a weapon.

All of Lucien’s robes were black and they were always what he wore to go on a quest, so perhaps I’d wear those. Maybe I’d be harder to spot, at least. Slowly, I stepped into one of his robes and slipped the hood down over my head. They smelled heavily of wooden drawer now, but I could still detect traces of him. Parchment and ink, smoke, candle wax, and something… metallic. I felt closer to him now than I had in months, and I began to feel hope again. Maybe I’d be able to save him, wherever he was.

I fled the city on horseback in the dark of the night, heading northeast. Fear clenched my heart and stomach, but I was spurred on by the need to save my lover.


	3. The Farm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for emetophobia, body horror, and gore. Be warned, this gets pretty grody!  
> Enjoy!

I’d been on the road for a full day when I finally arrived. My legs ached and I was soaked to the bone from the frozen rain that had assaulted me as soon as I’d gotten near the Jeralls. It was… a farm? I’d been expecting a fort or ruins or something... interesting. The place seemed abandoned, though. Perhaps that made it ideal for a hideout of sorts. I climbed off of my horse and tied the reins to a tree nearby. Thunder rolled deeply in the sky as I approached the darkened farmhouse, my feet sliding in the slushy mud.

The door was unlocked, to my surprise, and as soon as I stepped inside, I was hit with a thick, gut-twisting stench. Something was decaying in here, but it was almost pitch black, too dark to see the source. Whatever it was, it had to be massive. Maybe a mountain lion had gotten in and died.

I lifted my robe over my mouth and nose and took another few steps. I could see the barest silhouette of something in my way. It didn’t move, and slowly I reached a hand out to touch it. Just before my fingers made contact, lightning crackled outside, illuminating the room bright white for a split second.

My stomach dropped a thousand feet and I screamed so harshly I might have been ripping my own throat out with it. The obstacle in my path was a half rotted, mutilated corpse hanging upside down from the ceiling. I staggered back, hitting the door and crying out in fear at the touch of it. I fumbled with the door handle and stumbled out, slipping in the mud and falling flat on my back. The door was still open and I could see the horror inside. 

I scrambled clumsily to my feet and sprinted to the tree where my horse was. Digging my nails into the rough, dry bark, I hunched forward and wretched, losing the contents of my stomach into the scrubby tundra grass.

I couldn’t see anything in front of me. It was as if I was still looking at the body in the house. It was naked with its flesh peeled away, ribs bared. In the brief moment I saw it in the light, I couldn’t even tell which parts had been ripped up intentionally and what had just decayed away. I dry-heaved at the very thought, my body shuddering. Who could possibly be so… depraved?

Why did Lucien send me here? Was he the one who… did that? No. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t believe that. There had to be something here I needed to find. Another clue to his whereabouts, maybe. Slowly, I turned back towards the house. The door was still hanging open, swinging back and forth in the storm’s gale. 

How could I go back in, knowing what was inside? I couldn’t… I couldn’t face that nightmare again. But Lucien was depending on me. I had no choice. I took one step. Then another. And another. One foot in front of the other until I reached the door. I lifted the collar of my robe back up over my face and reentered the house, letting the door close behind me.

Wind rattled the warped panes of glass in the windows like a ghost trying to return to this mortal coil. I quickly turned away from what hung in the center of the room, feeling along the walls for a torch. When my fingers curled around the sconce that held one to the wall, I slid it out and carefully lit it. Now I could truly see the carnage.

Blood was splattered and crusted all over the rough wooden floorboards. Dried out entrails were strewn across the room. Roughly slashed chunks of dark hair littered the floor. Hot, acidic bile rose in my throat and I forced it back down. I had a job to do.

I squinted my eyes, turning the corpse into nothing but a blurry pillar in the corner of my eye and I began to trace the edge of the room, shuffling my feet. In the opposite corner there was a pile of black fabric. At arm’s length, I picked it up with just my forefinger and thumb. A small book fell from the blood-stiffened robes with a solid  _ smack _ on the ground. I dropped the fabric and knelt, picking up the book. It was a bloodstained journal. Written inside, just visible under the blotted haze of crimson, were symbols instead of letters. Symbols I recognized in a hand I could never forget. These were Lucien’s codes. The book nearly dropped out of my hand. Did that mean… no. I couldn’t even utter the words in my own mind. 

In my periphery, something glinted in the orange light of my torch. On the only remaining finger of the corpse, attached to a horribly twisted and broken arm and shoulder, was a ring. A silver signet ring.

Plenty of people wore signet rings though. Just because _ this  _ happened to have one didn’t mean anything. But… I had to make sure. I inched nearer to the ruined, outstretched arm. It couldn’t be the one I gave him… but… there it was. The ornate, curled  _ L  _ engraved on the shimmering surface.

My blood ran cold and froze in my veins. So it was true… A choking scream ripped through my stomach and chest and tears burned like fire in my eyes. I gasped for breath, but it was as if my lungs had shriveled up like the last dead leaves of fall. Impulsively I grabbed the dead hand, but as soon as I touched the slick, cold flesh, the decaying tissue and ligaments gave way and the entire arm fell away from the body, releasing fat white maggots onto the ground. I screamed again and scampered back against the wall.

Where I once couldn’t bear to look at the thing, now I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It looked nothing like him, but then again, it barely even looked like a person at all. I couldn’t understand it. How? Why? I swallowed a harsh sob. If it wasn’t for the undeniable proof, I wouldn’t have believed it.

I crouched against the wall, frozen, for an unquantifiable amount of time before I was able to rise. I couldn’t just… leave him there. I placed the torch back into the sconce and slipped the journal into my pocket. I dragged a chair up to Lucien and stood on it, slicing the rope that held him suspended with my dagger. He dropped to the floor with a sickening crack, his neck bending grotesquely under his body before it fell flat. Distantly, I was glad I’d decided to bring this weapon.

I stepped down from the chair and kicked it away. I sheathed my dagger and knelt, gathering what was left of my lover into my arms with a mix of revulsion and agony. I stood slowly, my legs shaking under him. Occasionally stopping to lean his weight against a wall or tree, I carried him outside. Near the farmhouse were a few graves, all with the surname Draconis. I didn’t recognize the names, but I figured this was as good a place as any. I lowered Lucien to the ground beneath a tree and began to dig beside the other graves with my bare hands.

Rain and now hail pelted my back, but I hardly felt it. There was only me, the dirt, and the shattered shell of my lover. Maybe it was hours. Maybe it was days. But at last, I’d dug six feet into the frozen soil. My fingers were bloody and caked with dirt, and my fingernails were ground down to the quick. With trembling arms, I dragged myself out of the open grave. Stiff and aching, I went back into the house and picked up Lucien’s crumpled robes and took them out to him. I set them aside and got down onto the ground beside him.

With numb hands, I picked up his severed arm and tried to remove the ring. His flesh had swollen and bloated around it, however, making his finger too thick for the metal band to fit over. I gripped the upper arm between my knees and pulled on the ring hard. Something snapped and my hand flew back into my face. I’d ripped off his finger. I swallowed more bile with a shudder. I’d have to break apart his finger to get it off. I took a shallow breath and bent the finger hard in the wrong direction, breaking bone and tearing half rotten flesh. I pulled off the ring quickly and pocketed it with the journal.

Carefully, I wrapped Lucien and all the pieces I could find of him in his robes like a makeshift shroud. I hoisted him up over my shoulder and walked to the grave. I slowly lowered him in, but ultimately I had to just drop him. I sat back and caught my breath before beginning to fill the hole back in. By the time I was finished, my hands felt like they could have fallen off. I was done, but… there was nothing to mark the grave with. I staggered to my feet again. There wasn’t much more I could do, that I was capable of doing.

I felt like I should say something. Something that constituted funeral rites, but I was no priest and I could hardly remember my own name now. I took a shuddering breath. “I… I love you. And I hope your soul finds peace… wherever it is.” I turned away from the unmarked grave. I was drenched with unfathomably cold rain, covered in dirt, my own blood, and whatever residue of death and torture had come off of Lucien and onto me. I plodded back to my horse, my feet not leaving the ground as I walked. I pressed my face into his warm, pungent mane. Nothing meant anything anymore. Nothing but the ring and book in my pocket. And… even though I could barely think, barely move, barely exist, one singular idea consumed my entire being. Revenge.


	4. Last Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: animal death  
> Enjoy!

I rode south, towards Cheydinhal. Whatever chill had entered my body, it wouldn’t leave me, even as I drifted into warmer weather. I’d never been so drained in my life, but I couldn’t stop. No, I was running. Running away or running towards, I couldn’t tell.

My horse needed water. I couldn’t make him run forever, he didn’t deserve that cruelty. I found a flowing river and got down, letting him drink from the tumbling, clear water. I remembered then that I was filthy. I shed my robes, letting them curl into a pile on the ground before stepping into the river. The water was smooth, enveloping my tattered form like a silken sheet.

The world was green and blue, with birds and insects buzzing and chirping along in the trees and thicket. I floated on my back, kicking my legs slowly against the current. I stared up at the clear sky as if it was the inside of my eyelids, because I couldn’t bear to close them. Even the quickest blink was a dip into a boiling nightmare.

I let the water wash through my hair, between my legs, curling between my fingers and toes, sweeping away the grime of terror from my skin. I saw nothing.

A fish brushed by my leg and I pushed my feet down, standing on the siltish river floor. With a quick strike, I snatched the fish out of the water. I was starving. I held the struggling creature down on the bank of the river and grabbed my dagger, swiftly beheading it. I filleted it without expertise and tossed the white slivers of bone back into the water.

I climbed out of the river and started a small fire and knelt beside it. I pierced the fish flesh with a stick and held it over the flame. I stared into the fire, mesmerized by its uncaring, destructive dance. Fire cares for nothing but its own survival, consuming anything in its path. Perhaps a useful strategy.

I ate the charred fish like a savage, tearing the unseasoned flesh from the stick with my teeth. I didn’t register any taste. I spit a bone I’d missed into the fire and it crackled sharply. 

The book. I hadn’t looked at it yet. I dropped the half eaten fish and rooted through my discarded robes for it. The pages were wavy and warped with blood, as if it had been dipped in red water. My hands shook. As soon as I’d read the words these pages held, Lucien would be truly dead. These were his last words, and so long as I left them unread… he’d still be here.

I had to read it. Maybe there would be some kind of explanation. A clue to who’d killed him. Avenging my lover’s death was more important than my feelings. With a tight inhale, I flipped open the cover and began to translate the code inside.

_ My dearest Leonora, _

_ If this book rests in your hands, it means I am dead. Perhaps the circumstances of my death have changed since I penned this for you, but I doubt it. I hope you did not suffer too much to see my end, however grotesque it might have been.  _

_ I owe you an explanation now that all is said and done. There are many things I’ve kept from you over the years. To put it simply, I am a Speaker for the Black Hand, the governing body of the Dark Brotherhood. I recruit assassins and carry out high level murders. But I have been betrayed. Framed by a member of the Black Hand itself as a traitor. If I am dead, it is likely that they are the ones who have killed me in retaliation. _

_ I ask you not to try and go after them. Whatever remains of the Black Hand and the Dark Brotherhood in Cyrodiil is still very powerful. I’ve kept my truth from you through the years for your safety. I don’t wish to see you annihilated in my name. _

_ I rest now at the feet of Sithis, the Dread Father. This is where I belong. Do not grieve for me, this is my true fate. I was destined for this from the moment I left my mortal mother’s womb. Perhaps we will one day meet again, if the icy hand of the Dread Father wills it. _

_ Yours in Sithis eternally, _

_ Lucien _

The Dark Brotherhood… my lover was a murderer. I closed the book. He didn’t want me to avenge him. Yet he’d kept so much from me… maybe my disobedience would not only destroy his killers, but be the justice I deserved for his deceit.

I’d heard whisperings of what it took to join the Dark Brotherhood. It took a murder in cold blood. I’d never imagined myself a murderer, but the image of Lucien’s ruined body made my hands itch to kill a thousand men. I would destroy the Dark Brotherhood from the inside out. Only then could I be satisfied, once they had all drowned in their own blood.


	5. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! College has been kicking my butt! I do hope you enjoy, though!

It was half past midnight when I slipped out of my room under the shade of an invisibility spell, with a step as light as a Khajiit on the hunt. Heavy wind screamed against the battered walls of the squat, run-down inn not far from Cheydinhal, as if some shrieking harbinger of the deed I was about to do. Though the door of the room next to me was shut, I could hear the thick, phlegmy snoring of its occupant. I set to picking the lock. I was clumsy about it, unskilled as I was, but still I made it in. 

I shut the door gently and recast my spell. The man in the bed was still asleep, sprawled out on the stiff mattress. Slowly I approached him. I felt the sweat of my own fear beading on my face. What if he woke? What if I was caught? With a soft gliding sound, I unsheathed the dagger given to me by Lucien. At the sound, those sleeping eyes fluttered open and I froze in terror, my stomach twisting tightly. He stared right through me, seeing open air in my place, then his eyes slid shut again.

I caught my breath and moved nearer to the bedside. I stared down at his face. This man had done nothing to me. I didn’t even know his name. What if he had family? Children somewhere? I steeled myself. It didn’t matter. Death happens every day after all, and everyone dies eventually. For a split second, Lucien’s mutilated face replaced the face of the stranger in my mind’s eye. Yes, this is what I must do. For him.

I lifted the knife over my head, poised to strike. At the peak of my arm’s arc, the man’s mouth fell open as if to scream, but he just let out another growling snore. No… I couldn’t do this. I was a coward. I couldn’t take a life. I was not strong enough.

I was about to step back when a bellowing crack of thunder burst outside, shaking the windows and making me lurch forward in surprise, my arm swinging down like an executioner's axe. His eyes flew open, but the deed was done. I’d torn open his heart, exposing this stranger’s very soul to the air and spattering his life blood up and out, painting the bedsheets and my cheeks with the heated crimson. He was dead before he could even utter a cry of pain or fear.

I yanked the bloody knife from the stranger’s body and wiped it on the sheet, then stepped back to gaze upon my handiwork. I brushed my hand across my face, smearing it with blood. I’d slipped Lucien’s ring onto my finger before I’d gone on my killing mission, and it felt right that the metal reminder of his flesh should taste the blood of my first kill. 

Light from outside glinted in the dark rivulets dripping from the man’s chest, drawing my eyes away. I peered out the small window in the room and saw the cause of the thunder that had incited me. Lightning had struck an age old oak that stood behind the inn and set it alight, burning brilliantly against the dark, thickly clouded night and sending embers up into the sky. Perhaps this was what Lucien meant by the will of Sithis. He had willed it, and so it had been done.


End file.
